


homely yado inn

by thisisporky



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Out of Character, Red/Blu - Freeform, badda bing, cross fiction, scared heavy and awkward scout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 06:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11480379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisporky/pseuds/thisisporky
Summary: a clone, a copy gone wrong; your substance is peripheral.you're gone; you've taken a bow. remembered as a passing phase.





	homely yado inn

**Author's Note:**

> im sick of looking at this  
> spins off from the "blu blitz" thing kind of  
> ???  
> writing this almost made it feel like it was 2012 again

I met a Heavy once. A RED Heavy. It all still feels like it happened yesterday, in one big chunk of events.

 

I'd approached him, more than ready to fire. But he was hunched under the stairs, holding his knees close to his chest, looking more like a petrified child than a trained mercenary. His eyes were big and shiny, blown wide from pure fear, and I couldn't help but notice that his bottom lip quivered like an earthquake. For such a hulking man of pure strength and raw muscle, he sure knew how to put on a scared show. He saw me, and he gazed at me, a silent beg in those huge orbs. It was honestly more off putting than constantly murdering in cold blood.

 

I took aim, ready to pull the trigger and move on but I ... couldn't. I'd never seen a Heavy class look so distraught. It was then that I took in his location, his position, his form, _properly_. He was _purposely_ hiding, trying to stay hidden away from the raging war, and it was obvious that he wanted no part in the battles. His mini-gun was nowhere in sight - it wasn't even resting at his side, and he hadn't looked armed. He was on the verge of tears. It was so strange. And it couldn't be a Spy, either, unless our BLU wanted to play tricks, but I knew he didn't play like that. Not even RED's Spy played like that.

 

We'd stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before I lowered my weapon, and I watched him sigh a huge breath, relief flooding his face before the stiffness of fear lodged itself into the crease of his forehead again. A Heavy class that was scared of fighting, something that was surly within his interests? It was unheard of. 

 

I'd stood still for too long. Long enough for the RED's Sniper to take clean aim. Next thing I knew I was waking up in re-spawn, with a worried Medic looking me up and down, muttering half nothings. The rest of those hours were a blur.

 

The next day, he was there again. Same place, same position, same expression.

 

This time I decided to huddle down with him.

 

He was just as quiet and drawn back as me, if not more. As soon as I sat down and got comfortable next to him, he shuffled away. When I looked over, he'd completely hugged himself into the corner, looking impossibly smaller than before, if such a guy his size could look small to begin with. My whole mind had been thrown in such a spin that it was making me second guess every little thing. Why we were here, what we were fighting for, why we fought. It was numbing.

 

The war wasn't exactly going anywhere. It could wait. No one had noticed we were gone, and no one had called out my name in search. Neither did RED, for that matter, for their lost Heavy.

 

We just sat there. Huddled in that one spot, staying silent, him badly flinching whenever someone trudged passed with a woop or a sneer. We heard every gunshot and swear and death from there. No one saw us. No one else went back there, only passing and never staying. He'd searched this place out thoroughly for a secure place like this, it seemed, and it was paying off well for avoidance. It reminded me of my school days.

 

I messed with my gun. Used my hand wraps to clean the sides, checking it over for any scratches or unusual marks, tracing the wood in the handle, then going back through the routine, over and over. You never really realise how long an event is until you're sat down in a dark corner, not exactly doing anything. I still don't understand why I bunked down with him at all to begin with. Maybe dumb curiosity. 

 

The bell rattled. RED had won that day. He didn't turn on me, instead rushing off without a word back to his base. I was still dumbfounded. 

 

And we kept at that routine.

 

It was an unspoken arrangement, a wordless agreement; day after day, battle after battle missed in person but there in spirit. Heavy stopped moving away from me as the days stacked up in each others company. He'd stopped shivering, his hug on the knees wasn't so tight, his lip had ceased trembling.

 

One of those days, he spoke to me. His voice had scared me half shitless.

 

'Do not like it here.'

 

It was a light Russian voice, not at all a tone you would expect to hear from a man of such caliber. It was far too soft for a guy to be handling a weapon, far too scared, far too drawn back.

 

'They bring wrong man. I told them, but did not listen. I do not fight, I was in no war back home. Had nice job in flower shop, helping father, make people happy with daisy's and sunflowers. I do not belong here, no matter how much I tell them. They shove _big_ weapon at me, tell me I now kill other men for living.' 

 

'Oh.' _Oh_. ' ... Uh, sorry.' I wasn't sure what to say. I'm not ever sure what to say, really, especially to something like _that_. He chuckles softly and chances me a look, and now he's got an exhausted tint in his expression, most of his fear vanished. Tired sadness. He peered at me, so I decided to turn my attention to my gun instead. Eye contact is too intimate for me. I still wasn't used to sitting with a RED, let alone having a chat with one. Even now, it's a weird thing to think about.

 

'You are not like our Scout. At all.' He'd said after a while of broken up silence. He sounded fond, almost relived. Like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders that I wasn't chewing his ear off.

 

'Yeah?'

 

'He is loud. Talk. All bark and all bite, all "himself" and "hot chicks". Did not know chickens could be "hot".' Now I'm chuckling. 'He is rude, and, what is word ... obnoxious? Do not like at all. But, you are not same. Am glad leetle man is not same.' I can only shrug and offer a weak smile. I still didn't look his way. I don't really remember what his face looked like.

 

I'm not close with most of BLU. Maybe Demoman for his free tea, and Medic, because Medic's always up in my space about something or other and is _literally_ unavoidable, but I manage to stay away from the rest of the team. Socialising isn't a strong point of mine. Neither is talking. ... Neither are words in general.

 

  
'He uh, reminds me of our Sniper.' I muttered out, and in the corner of my eye I could see him watching. I noticed he'd started smiling a lot more after that day. 'Um, yeah, he sounds a lot like our Sniper.'

 

'Your Sniper loud?'

 

'Yeah, he uh, he talks a lot. Pretty sure the guy hasn't had a proper sleep in months, either. Um, not properly, a-anyway, y'know?' I'd botched that up; I remember I did that a lot, but Heavy seemed to understand me regardless. He always understood what I said. Never asked for my words twice. That was real nice.

 

'Our Sniper quiet. Much like you, but he more grump. Is funny to see such not-sameness in our teams from other people.' 

 

He talked. And continued talking until the bell rang. I don't remember who'd won that round. We said our goodbyes and headed back to our bases.

 

We talked a lot more after that. I got a lot more confident from just chatting with him, something I hadn't felt in a while, and our conversations seemed to come easily, even with my awkward mumbles. He never expected me to speak, satisfied with my grunts of answers, which I highly appreciated. We spoke about everything and nothing; about team differences, about sandwich combinations, about flower types; even about how our days had gone and what we were planning on doing after the battle. We ranted about life, about team-mates; we even hinted at meeting each other after battle for a drink or something. It was nice. I enjoyed his company, and he seemed to relax around me with every day that passed. I looked forward to spending time with him, and that's real rare for me.

 

...

 

He wasn't there one day. The sudden meetings of past weeks to the sudden disappearance was weird, and he was always in that spot before me. I waited there for the entire round, but I didn't see him at all. There was no sign of him anywhere, and I didn't hear Russian yelling nor mini-gun rounds being blasted from the battle ground.

 

He wasn't there the next day, either. No matter how much I sat there, he didn't arrive. Maybe I'd said something wrong and he'd found a new spot to hide? Maybe he'd gotten sick of me. But what if I'd left and he was just late? Fashionably late, but late regardless. It had gotten me down. I wanted to talk about tea brews more with him. I was even thinking of getting a tea sample from Demo to give to him. I bet he'd had loved that. Our Demoman makes some frickin' good tea.

 

Miss Pauling pulled me to one side the next day, in person. Explained the situation to me with a strained expression.

 

Back alley deep within the town. One shot, clean. Minimal dirt and an entire sweep of the evidence. Body quickly disposed of, a replacement class already put in. She said that if I hadn't been in the company for a while, I'd have been next, but she'd managed to convince them not to do that. Apparently you get "warnings" here. She'd advised me not to do anything like that again if I was to keep a functioning head on my shoulders.

 

... She said she was sorry. It didn't stop the ache.

 

That Heavy had said he'd had a family back home. Didn't catch where, but he'd said he had 4 sisters, a ma and pa, a nice little flower shop out in a packed snowy town. They hadn't even let him go back home, probably didn't even let him ring home and say goodbye or anything. Poor bastard probably didn't even know what was happening, where he was being taken, why that had happened to him. His family was probably wondering where their son and brother had gone, believing Mann Co's. lies that were being fed to them however many times a week over a lousy phone call and fake cheer.

 

He'd just wanted to go home.

 

A new RED Heavy came in pretty soon after that, all guns blazing, a frown on his face and his voice full of charisma and the lust for power. He killed anything and everything that moved, with no remorse - he didn't spare pity when they had won, making sure everyone's blood had been spilled twice over by the end. He claimed every kill as we ran for our lives. Not at all like the Heavy I knew, but just like the rest of the copies that have been here, if not worse.

 

And let me tell you, those memories still _fucking_ **_suck_ ** to think about.


End file.
